It's Complicated
by Dapper Dumpling
Summary: Sequel to With That Pretty Face of Yours. Allen moves to the city of Chicago to try and get a fresh start, forget about past demons and move on. He's carved out a little life for himself when Luciano comes crashing back into his life. 2p!AmericaX2p!Italy.
1. Chapter 1

It's Complicated.

Chapter 1

Buildings crowded the city. Gray tombs with scaled skin stood sentry over their inhabitants. They reached and stretched and strained for the block of solid gray cloud clogged sky. Gargoyles prowled atop brick and stone buildings carved with intricate architectural design breathed a graceful life into the inanimate walls of rock and concrete. It created the illusion of eyes constantly look down, down on the citizens with an annoyingly superior sort of air about them. Red brick buildings cowered beside these with paint tattooed into their facade and empty windows shattered and boarded up tight. The air was thick with perspiration. Rain would fall and then stop again like the flip of a switch. But instead of carrying an umbrella most everyone ducked–hoods or coats above their heads–nearly blindly into cabs, doors, underneath tarps, you name it.

Allen F. Jones opened his eyes with a protesting groan as his alarm screamed at his to get up. Part of him wanted to ignore it and go back to bed, but the greater side knew it would do him no good in the end to roll over for just 'five more minutes'. He yanked the warm blankets off himself and shivered as his bare feet touched the freezing cold ground. Rubbing his bleary eyes with one hand, the American slapped the alarm silent and reached his arms up into a stretch. He turned to his landline and clicked the flashing red button while he walked over to his desk of drawers.

"Hey Allen, it's Jeff, call me back about that job you wanted. Thanks."

The brunette pulled on a T-shirt and glanced over at the time. He had a little while yet until he absolutely _had_ to leave. Pulling on a pair of worn out jeans, Allen mentally calculated how much time he'd have and what he might do with it. He turned to the clock with a bored expression before he realized.

"Oh shit." He hissed. That clock was about an hour early. He had twenty minutes to get ready and get to work before he was late.

That's what found Allen rushing between busybodies, his battered brown boots sinking into puddles and his hair a soaked mess clinging to his forehead. He jammed his elbow into yet another asshole who decided to shove up against him instead of just moving their own damn selves. If it wasn't cheaper, healthier and probably a little faster in this traffic to walk to work every day he wouldn't bother bringing up his blood pressure at the hands of these idiots–especially in this weather. Not wanting to drench his favorite jacket he took refuge underneath the shelter of one of the many buildings and just stood there, waiting for another break.

Unfortunately for him the silence was more than enough to get the gears going in his head. Thinking about the complex emotions in his life wasn't something he liked to do seeing as he use to spend so much time downing those thoughts in bars. Allen didn't know exactly what it was that drove him to leave the place he'd called home for so many years. One day he opened his eyes and there was nothing more in the world he wanted–no, needed than to just get out, leave. It was like holding back tears, the longer he stayed the more his chest hurt and the harder he found it to breathe.

There hadn't been a time in his life when he felt truly motivated to do something more with his life. His roommates, his brother, and him made a sort of dysfunctional family within themselves. This being the norm he'd never really questioned how life could get much better, or why he'd want it to in the first place. Now that he was living alone with a few jobs to keep him afloat, life in the city of Chicago hadn't been so bad, not at first.

But even as rays of sun battled with the chilly wind, the weight of loneliness leaned heavily on his shoulders. This was definitely the farthest away he'd ever been from someone who cared about him, or was suppose to anyway. If he was honest he was pretty dependent on others not so much for things, but for a sense of presence. Though he'd rattled off the people who he _might_ still be able to turn to should everything go to shit, he still felt alone in the world like no one would even know if he went missing. There wasn't anyone waiting at home who would be there when he woke up, or later that night so he could scare the shit out of them at the door. No one to eat dinner with, no one to mess around with, no one…

Leaving home sucked.

A particularly forceful burst of wind kicked up a few droplets of water, splattering Al right in the face. He scrubbed his cheeks dry and–deciding that was enough of a sign for him to get going–started off and back into the crowd. He looked down at the time–he wasn't late just yet–then back up as the restaurant he worked at came into view. Maybe he'd feel better when he got home and took a nice, hot shower.

Working a few jobs really wasn't as bad as it seemed. The tinkle of a familiar bell rang as he entered the restaurant and walked straight into the kitchens. Waving at a few familiar faces as he passed, the American settled into his day washing dishes, serving up food… just normal stuff. He only worked here until later in the afternoon but it was nice. He liked the different people that came through. They weren't great but the people he worked with weren't complete dicks which was a plus. Not that he'd seen yet anyway.

"Thanks doll." One of the waitresses cooed when he handed her a plate of steaming pasta. Allen blinked. Long feathery blond hair curled around her pale cheeks and contrasted against her cherry red, plump lips, thin waist, and large hips. She batted her blue eyes at him and giggled. He was positive she brushed their hands together on purpose when she reached for the food.

"You're welcome." He mumbled, trying not to stare. Whether he was interested or not he could appreciate an attractive person, man or woman.

A giggled escaped her lips and she held out a folded piece of paper. "The name's Marisa. Call me sometime, won't ya?"

The brunette looked down at the number, heat still lingering on his face. "Um, thanks."

"It ain't nothin cutie." She moved a piece of blond hair back behind her ear and turned with a cheeky wink to deliver the food.

Allen lingered on the scene just long enough for it to become awkward. As he made his way back to the kitchen his burgundy eyes strayed back down to the number still in his hand and he felt his heart clench in his chest. Luciano constantly lingered in his mind and in his heart. He wouldn't allow himself to think about the Italian for more than a moment before he tried anything, _anything_ to not think about the way his stomach fluttered when he kissed him…

Allen sighed. He glanced back at the waitress' hips and the things the light's were doing to that blond hair. He wasn't ready for a relationship. Not that what he and Luciano had was anything to brag about. In fact, he should've felt embarrassed with the way things turned out. After all there was a reason the older brunette never came back. That scene played over and over again in his head. That jilt echoed in his ears a thousand times over the hundreds of times his mind wandered back to that bar he'd grown so fond of returning.

Allen pocketed the number without a second thought.

When his shift ended and he dried his callused hands on a towel, walked out of the restaurant and gazed about the messy, dirty, unfriendly place he now proudly called home.

…

Nighttime in the city was always a pretty dangerous affair. Allen accepted the fact he lived in a place where it was easy to get jumped. Even though lights made the city a constant lantern in the dark, his little slice of Chicago had its shadowed alleyways and dark streets lit by nothing but street lights and the wide unblinking eyes of cars cutting through the pitch. Dimmed by age, the lights here barely outshone that of the moon's silver rays.

Allen lived in the rough end of the neighborhood. Everything here reeked of criminal activity but the American prefered it that way. There was something about danger he liked too much for his own good. Paint peeled off the sides of buildings, trash blowed past his feet as he walked with that eery silence that almost always bore trouble. If car horns weren't honking or pedestrians hollering something was off balance.

Allen halted at the sound of gunfire. He twitched. It sounded so much closer than it usually did. Realizing he'd stopped right next to an alleyway, the brunette's head turned toward it with a curious frown. He knew that was a shortcut. Hoping that this would help him avoid trouble, Al ducked into the alley and–constantly glancing behind him–quietly walked down the dark street.

His footsteps echoed eerily off the brick alley walls. For a minute or two he thought he was in the clear. Nothing blocked his path and he could see orange light pooling before the edge of the street. The brunette let out a breath of relief and quickened his step considerably. At some point clam, his now racing pulse surrounded him as he sprinted toward the seemingly unreachable end.

Just when he stepped back onto the cracked sidewalk on his street a body slammed into him, and they both stumbled onto the ground. Allen cursed and reached up to his afflicted head to soothe it. "Ow, what the hell–?"

At once the figure leaped forward and pinned the American against the alley wall. He hadn't even had enough time to get a good look at them before they had him trapped. Allen's cry was snuffed out by a hand clamping over his mouth. In the struggle that ensued Al managed to grip onto the stranger's shoulder, pushing with all his might against them to no avail. For their stature they were incredibly overbearing. It took him a good minute to realize something hot and wet coated their fingers and was now dribbling down Allen's dark skin. Copper flooded his senses, that must've been blood. His heart pounding deep within his chest. He itched to be rid of the sensation and continued to sporadically buck against their grip. Al opened his mouth to chomp down on the figure's sticky flesh when a parade of footsteps marched past them one after the other. The pair of them relaxed and Al's reddish eyes widened against the dark concealing them. Whoever they were didn't want to hurt him, did they? Just as soon as everything became still and the footsteps were long out of range, a groan disturbed the silence and the figure slumped against Allen, breathing at an unhealthily rapid speed.

"Shit." Allen mumbled, grabbing for their arms as they slid down reluctantly. Against the light of the street light behind them, the American could see them quiver in an attempt to hold themselves upright. "Hold on there. Jus' get down It's a'ight. It'll be fine." What the hell was he doing? He drew a complete blank, every once of him screamed to get out, just get out because what else was he suppose to do? He had to do something–anything. It hit him and he quickly whipped out his cell phone. Even as he fired up his phone he questioned why he was bothering with this random stranger who now he knew wasn't trying to kill him, but that hardly meant anything. They could literally be anyone: a serial killer, a rapist, a thief and yet…

Dried now, the blood on his face cracked as he cringed before the light of his phone, shocking his sensitive eyes and sharply bringing his face into view. He was half crouched on the ground with his other hand holding tightly onto the figure before him. Blood slithered thickly down the long boney fingers of the pale hand that reached up and gripped onto his tightly. Allen relaxed–his heart still ramming against his chest–when he realized the figure was pulling his phone away from his eyes. He didn't have the heart to yank it back from such a weak grip which seconds ago somehow managed to pin him securely against the wall they now leaned against. "Hey stop that, I need to call you a–"

The electronic glow of his phone revealed a pair of fuchsia eyes and dark chestnut hair plastered to a sweaty forehead with dried blood smeared against dark skin, tanned just a few shades lighter than his own. His jaw was rounded, not unlike that of a women's and when he spoke his accent was obviously Italian.

"Don't. Please."

Allen felt his energy leave him along with the color in his face. "L-Luci?"

"Don't… call me that, asshole." He panted, losing his grip on the American's hand and would've fallen backward had Allen not surged forward to grab him, holding him tightly against his chest. He felt weak with reminiscence. "And stop… touching me."

Allen shook slightly, his anxiety peaking. His breath escaped his lips far too fast as his stomach squirmed and writhed. "Do y-you want me to drop you?" He managed, his mind unable to comprehend the scene in front of him.

Luciano muttered something in what he assumed was Italian and curled his fingers around Allen's jacket. "Just… Shut up."

"Wha–no! You need to tell me what to do, I don't know what to do!" Luci let out a sigh and went slack in his arms. "Luciano!" Tears were soaking his eyes, was he going to die? His throat constricted. He didn't even attempt to mask his sob. "Oh God what am I gonna do?"

"Allen." Luciano grunted. "You need to calm down."

"How are _you_ so calm?" Al demanded, all too aware of the blood staining his hands and Luciano's climbing unresponsiveness. Allen's legs quivered beneath him. Would they even hold him if he stood? "I need to call an ambulance–"

"Don't. You. Dare." Luciano snarled, producing a pistol out of absolutely nowhere. "If you call any 9-1-1 number, I'm going to shoot myself, you hear me?"

"Christ." This was too much, it was way too much. Allen's chest constricted. "Put the gun down, please Luci."

"Swear to me you won't call anyone."

"If you're going to die–"

"I'd _rather_ die than have that happen you stupid fuck if you want me to live you're going to have to help me out yourself."

"I-I can't." He always broke under pressure. "There's so much blood…"

"Deep breaths Allen. I'm going to be fine." Luciano soothed, sliding his pistol back in its holster. Sweat glazed the Italian's forehead, his breath choppy and irregular.

"Don't give me that chicken shit! You're gonna die and I dunno what to do!"

"You're being overdramatic. Shut your trap, and get us out of this alleyway before I slap you."

"Like that's gonna to do any–"

Luciano's palm struck his cheek before he could finish. "Stop that and do what I tell you."

Allen clenched his jaw tight, looking expectantly down at his counterpart. His skin burned with the aftermath of Luciano's hit, the pain momentarily distracted him from his fears. "O-ok."

"First thing you're going to do is get us the fuck out of here. If anyone else was nearby you've probably alerted them where we are–don't freak out." He warned as Allen tensed up again. "Just focus on doing this one thing."

Allen nodded, noting the waver in Luciano's voice. He held tightly onto him as he stood, his legs quivering underneath him. Luci gripped onto his shoulders as Allen peered around the street corner. He felt as though something was following him, prowling just out of sight. Every step he took seemed to echo too loudly off the buildings. The stone gargoyles stood witness as Allen ducked into the back door of his building, thanking every god he could think of the place at least appeared empty. He rushed up to his room, shifting Luciano's weight onto one arm as he took out his key. Al Looked down at his charge as he shut the door. Luciano had a hand flat to his side. Blood seeped past his fingers causing Allen to avert his eyes hastily, his stomach lurching. Luciano looked as though he'd pass out at any given moment, he needed to know what to do before then or he'd be stuck. Propping Luciano up against the wall as soon as the door shut, Allen nealt down and placed a hand on Luci's fevered forehead. "W-what do I do now?"

Luciano jumped a bit at being addressed. Clearly he was more out of it then he was letting on. He seemed to be forcing every word from his mouth as though it strained him to do so. "Do you have any gauze… or maybe a shirt you don't care too much about?" Allen thought a moment, then nodded. "Ok, I just need you to stop the bleeding… Can you do that?"

"Yeah… yeah." The American felt himself relax a little at Luciano's calm complex. If not for the blood the Italian would've appeared simply tired. He closed his eyes for seconds at a time–his eyelids were drooping when they weren't closed–and panted heavily in between sentences. His usual straight back slouched forward and he was speaking slowly and deliberately. Allen tried to dilute himself into thinking he was just tired to keep himself from hyperventilating as he threw open his closet and grabbed onto an old shirt, rushing back to Luciano.

 _He's going to be fine, it's going to be ok, one thing at a time Allen, just this and he'll be fine._ Al thought over and over again. He stopped when it came down to actually addressing the wound. "U-um…"

Luciano shifted to pull off his jacket. Allen placed two hands on his shoulders. "Here." He grunted, shoving the clothing from his friend's shoulders. Luci glared as Allen reached forward, grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, and ripped it right down the middle. A layer of sweat reflected off his chest, he looked like he was struggling to swallow his breaths. Allen threw the bloodied shirt somewhere within his room and looked down at Luciano in panic.

"Quit staring at me… and help cover this thing." The Italian ground out.

"S-shouldn't I clean it first or somethin'?"

"I'm more worried about bleeding out at the moment…" He slumped further down the wall. "When you get the blood to stop you can go ahead and do... that."

"Ok. U-um…"

"Get on with it!" He barked. Evidently Luciano's patience had reached its limit.

Trying not to be too awkward Allen wound the cloth tightly around Luci's waist. The Italian winced when he tugged the cloth tight, finally tying it together. It wasn't too pretty but it worked all right.

"I-I think I got it." Luciano placed a hand over the cloth, letting out a relieved sigh. His eyelids drooped as he slumped forward, Allen reached out to catch him. "Luci?"

Allen shook him gently, his hand flew to Luciano's throat, his heart pounding and eyes wide as he shifted his fingers underneath his jaw. The American let out a breath of relief when he felt his counterpart's pulse tap steadily back against his fingertips. Allowing himself to finally relax, Al closed his eyes and held Luciano against his chest.

"This ain't how I imagined we'd meet again…" He muttered as he stood and took up Luciano in his arms again. He hadn't noticed in his terror just how light the Italian felt in his arms. He settled Luci onto his bed, placing a hand on his still shiny forehead. "Well, least you ain't feelin' as hot now." He muttered. His room was just big enough for him, meaning there was no couch and hardly any furniture at all. So he decided he could sleep on one of his chairs for the night. Allen pulled the blankets over Luciano. Flakes of dried blood settled onto his sheets but he was far too tired to care or try and prevent this from happening to begin with. He decided to just give Luciano space, though he probably could've settled down next to him he was terrified accidentally hurting him. Collapsing into the most comfortable chair he had, Allen fisted his dark hair as a headache slammed into his skull. The now dried blood on own his hands cracked as he moved his fingers.

None of it felt real. Had Luciano Vargas, the guy he'd convinced himself he'd never see again just knocked into him in an alleyway not far from his apartment, bleeding out and needing his help, in Chicago–worlds away from where they'd met? The more he thought the more times he had to look over at the Italian, just to assure himself this wasn't some weird dream. Having him here was way too surreal. Part of him was relieved it wasn't just some weird fever dream, but part of him wished Luciano had just…

Wait a minute–what the hell had he been doing to begin with? Allen looked again at Luciano's sleeping form. His mind had been too preoccupied with just trying to keep the Italian from bleeding out he'd forgot to question. Luci was curled into a tight ball and lying on his good side, breathing regularly. He still looked pale but Allen was relieved he was stable for the time being. For once it seemed he'd done something right. At least he hadn't fucked it up big time and killed him. On impulse his fingers once again found the throbbing vein just underneath Luci's jaw to assure himself it wasn't palpitating out of control or just barely fluttering at all. He placed his other hand against his own pulse to compare the two, sighing heavily when he decided it was all right.

"Damn, one of these days you're gonna give me a heart attack." He murmured, placing his palm against Luciano's cheek. "But I'm glad you're ok."

Before doing anything else, Allen reached for Luciano's hip and removed the black .22 pistol from its holster. He looked down at it with loathing bubbling in his stomach. As though it was the weapon's fault and not Luciano's rash behavior that drove him to threaten himself with suicide should things be put into the hands of the authorities. Wondering about why he would rather risk himself at Allen's care instead of professionals, the brunette carefully unloaded the gun and tossed it into one of his drawers. He opened the window to his apartment and threw the tiny gold pellets onto the pavement below. They scattered, never to be reclaimed.

Dare he even check the time? Resigning himself to the fact he had to, Allen looked down at his phone and winced. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Usually he didn't get coffee but something told him he'd be needing it desperately when he woke up. Still ignoring the blood smearing his dark skin, Allen curled up on the chair and closed his eyes.

 **(AN):**

 **Hey guys, I'm back!**

 **So I've been working on just a lot of different things at once. I'm trying to keep myself motivated to actually write because it's getting harder to keep myself wanting to write for some reason. I haven't figured out why exactly but school and upcoming exams is definitely a factor. The product of trying to rid myself of writer's block is this. I don't actually know if I'll go anywhere with this, I kind of like how With That Pretty Face of Yours ended and I guess if no one really likes this I'll probably end up taking it down and forgetting about it entirely. I don't know, I guess it just feels a tad forced at this point and this first chapter feels rushed but I feel like I needed to get something out.**

 **I'm trying to get other stuff written, I'll get there but updates are gonna be slow along with new stories. I'm going to try cutting back a bit on my America and Italy fics and get out a Germany Italy fic or two out sooner or later.**

 **That's all, thanks for the lovely reads and reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Allen once again awoke, he frowned when he saw it was still dark outside his window. He sat up and groaned under his sore muscles. Rubbing one of his eyes furiously, Al sat up, thinking for a minute as to what had him crammed into his chair–in a position that made him wonder how he'd gotten any sleep at all–instead of comfortably wrapped in his toasty blankets.

He cringed when he reached over and turned the lamp on next to his dresser. The afterglow of stress still lingered in the form of a headache pounding in his head. He blinked once, twice, then placed a hand to his forehead. He furrowed his brow as he gazed about the room. Something seemed oddly amiss in the too silent, completely still atmosphere. He couldn't quite put his finger on it…

Allen stopped moving entirely when he spotted what was wrong with this picture. The blankets on his bed were spread evenly across the equally smooth sleets. The pillows hardly looked disturbed, dare he say it looked like no one had been there at all. Had it all been some product of his imagination or possibly lack of sleep?

One look down at his still bloodied hands told him otherwise. And besides he hardly ever made his bed _that_ neat after sleeping in it. He pushed himself off the chair and swiveled his head around in search for the evasive Italian. A rustling of clothing made moved his attention toward his door. Quietly Allen stepped forward, revealing Luciano attempting to pull his jacket back onto his bare shoulders. Evidently he'd completely removed the torn shirt he had worn underneath it. He visibly winced in the process, a hiss of pain slipping past his teeth as he tried to stand up straight.

Despite everything, Allen grinned. Something about this he found pretty hilarious. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

Luciano hitched in his step and turned wide-eyed in Allen's direction. He clenched his teeth and ground out quietly. "What does it look like to you?"

"Maybe I'm wrong, but it looks like you're walkin' out on me again." The humor was promptly sucked out of the moment.

He scoffed. "You make it sound like I'm committing a crime."

"Nah. But it seems a bit rude considerin' I jus' saved your ass."

Luciano placed a hand delicately to his ailed side. "What do you want from me?"

"Calm down. I jus' want a few answers. Ya see, when you stumble onto a man bleedin' out in the streets it crops up a few fundamentals."

Luciano scowled at him again and at this point Allen's patience for him was wearing thin. He hadn't even realized he'd been slowly running out of it until that look broke the emotional dam he realized he'd been building.

"Don't gimme that look." Allen took a step toward the Italian. "You wanna know somethin'? Yeah, I want you to tell me where you've been. I think I've earned the fuckin' right for you to let me know when you're 'round. I want to know why you just up and _left_ without telling me anything. I don't think it's too unreasonable to give a shit when I find you bleedin' out to want to know what happened; and I certainly don't think I deserve your attitude."

Luciano's expression didn't waver in the slightest, causing Allen to grind his teeth and bristle right up. How, just how could he just stand there and _stare_ at him like that after everything?

"Allen," Luci began, his calm voice further irritating him. "I'm sorry to say I think you've chosen the wrong person to 'give a shit' about."

The American's eye twitched. It took all the self control he could muster not to punch a hole right through the wall.

"I saved your ass." His voice shook as he spoke. "I don't care whether you give a damn about me or not you're giving me some answers."

"Don't you get it?" Luciano hissed, his eyes narrowing further. "It's _because_ I give a damn about you that I'm not telling you."

"If that's even a little bit true you've got a real funny way of showin' it," Al scoffed.

"Let me put it like this." Luciano threw his shoulders back and stared Allen down. For once he stared right back, as though he'd completely forgotten how dangerous the elder man could be when he wanted to. He was injured, but the threat behind his tone was clear. "If I told you, it'd be a death sentence. I prefer people I don't hate alive."

"Well how about this," Allen countered, his tone daring Luciano to continue his little song and dance. "If it weren't for me you'd be dead, you owe me one, so how about you tell me everything I want to know, not kill me, and _maybe_ we can call it even."

Luciano twitched. Clearly he was the kind who hated owing anyone anything. Luci's jaw tightened. "Fine," He spat venomously. "Fine." He walked past Allen and sat down in the chair then American had recently vacated. "Fine." He scowled, positively spitting with irritation. "If this is what you want I suggest you sit down, shut up, and don't expect me to save your sorry ass if someone comes looking to kill you. You're not my problem." Allen obeyed, choosing to sit down opposite him on the neatly folded blankets of his bed. Now that his counterpart had agreed he was starting to feel a lot less in control of the situation. Briefly the Italian placed a hand back to his side and took a shuttering breath.

There was a few moments where nothing but Luciano's heavy breathing filled the room.

"Well get on with it then."

"I'm trying to think of where to start…"

"How 'bout the beginnin'?"

"Oh, wow, what a fantastic idea. Can't believe I hadn't thought of it first."

"It's not that hard you know. Don't be such a fuckin' prick about it."

"You'd certainly think it would be easy, wouldn't you? But unfortunately for the both of us I don't know where this mess started."

"Look, I've got someplace to be tomorrow so I'd appreciate it if you'd just start talkin'."

"Gee, I'm sorry," He sneered. "I don't think you realize how long this is going to take. If you thought this was going to be wrapped up in three minutes flat you're even less intelligent than I give you credit for." Luci leaned back against the chair and returned Allen's glare with equal fire.

"My apologies your highness." Allen's voice rose. "Do take your time. It's not like I don't have anything better to do."

"This was certainly not _my_ idea. It doesn't make any difference to me if you hear any of this or not."

"I'm waiting."

"You know, I don't remember you being quite this insufferable," Luci spat.

"Well a few things change when you're gone for nearly half a year." Luciano looked him up and down, his face scrunched up as he scanned the American's face. He looked almost like he was searching for something in Allen's appearance. "Enjoying the view, are you?"

"Less than I thought I would." Luciano rubbed his temples.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Allen demanded.

"Nevermind that now." Luciano wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Allen hadn't realized how much perspiration had collected there. "I think... I think I've got this figured out. Just give me a minute." Luci looked down at his chest and slowly began buttoning his jacket up. Allen watched the progress as the Italian fumbled through it. "Sorry," He muttered, his fingers shaking slightly. "I don't like being half-naked while talking to people. It's uncomfortable."

"Right. Here." Allen stepped forward and did up the last two. It was almost painful to watch him near-struggle with it. Luciano was staring at him again. He took small comfort in the fact he was allowing him so close and to do something so simple for him. The glaring had also come to a stop. Al lingered just a few moments more than necessary while he gently straightened the jacket and patted Luci's shoulder. "There."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"All right." Luciano braced his elbow against the armrest and rested his cheek against his palm. "So, I guess I should start with that bar. You want to know why I 'up and left', don't you?"

"That'd be nice, yeah."

"Right, well, let's see…" Luciano thought for a moment or two. "How do I say this… I was only there to begin with because of a job I'd been assigned by my grandfather."

"Wait, wait, hold up." Allen crossed his legs underneath him. "You told me you didn't have any family. What gives? And… really? You're still lettin' your grandaddy make your life decisions?"

"First of all, smart ass, I hardly consider that senile old man my family. He's unpleasant all around and I sincerely doubted you wanted to hear about him. Secondly, I'll get to my life decisions in a minute so hold onto your ass."

He looked away from Luci. "I… guess I figured you'd mention it."

"Maybe this wasn't very clear to you, but I don't exactly like spilling my private life out in bars to people I hardly know."

"Right… jus' get back to whatever you were sayin'. But you'd better not try feedin' me some bullshit. I ain't stupid."

Luci snorted. "That's debatable. I have no reason to lie to you now. You can either believe me or you can pass me off as a liar. It doesn't matter to me anymore."

"You keep sayin' things like that, makes me wonder why you feel the need to remind me how much you don't care."

"Do you want to hear me or would you rather just bitch all night?"

Allen rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah go on."

It took Luciano a second to get back on track. "Well, we were meant to stay for a while should everything go all right. And it did. I thought for those last few nights we were there, it would all be ok." Luciano looked out the dark window. "Then my grandfather found out about you. And we had to leave."

"But… why?" Allen frowned. "What kind of job was this?"

"Well, believe it or not, I'm actually a hitman," Luci replied as though he'd just told Allen his occupation was computing, or engineering, or, you know, something more normal. "I was there for my first job." Suddenly Allen understood why Luciano spent night after night in a bar, alone. Luciano allowed him a minute to contempt that fact before moving on. "So then, I suppose you can guess the mafia is my family business. That's what I'm doing currently."

"You're still… a hitman?" His heart was throwing itself against his chest, a little flutter tickled his navel. Damn that sounded hot: suits, guns, sunglasses, cigarettes, black _everything_. Not to mention how dangerous it all was. He could see Luciano holding a pair of pistols, one in each hand, and walking down the street like he owned the place–grinning darkly as he held up the gun...

"Sort of." Allen almost jumped at the sound of his voice invading his thoughts. "I'm a little more involved now."

Allen blinked rapidly, trying to process his words after his little reverie. "But… wait, I'm still confused. Why did you leave? What did any of it have to do with me?"

Luciano stopped briefly to run his fingers through his dark hair. "I thought it would all work out, God how I'd hoped it would all work out…" Allen cocked an eyebrow. He waited for Luciano to drag his hand from his head before he went on. "My grandfather thought I was too distracted. At first he thought it was the job. Long story short he found out about you and didn't like it very much."

"So y'all just up and left without tellin' me?"

"...not exactly. Basically, he told me that I needed to take care of 'the problem' or he'd do it for me."

Silence greeted this. Allen frowned. "So…?"

"Stop prodding I'm getting to that," Luci snapped. "He wanted me to kill you, ok? I didn't want to, so I convinced my family to leave once the job was finished." Once again he started running his fingers through his hair over and over again. "I stabbed some bloke outside an alleyway and told him it was taken care of. I managed to pull one over on him. I knew he was going to figure it out eventually, but not like this…" His tone was pulling at Allen's heartstrings. Luciano turned from the window and glared at him. "Good job, you've fucked it all up you idiot. If he figures out you're the guy at the bar he's not going to be very happy."

Allen frowned. "But how would he? I mean, I know I'm incredibly handsome and all that shit but it's not like he'd see me on the streets and say 'Oi, you fucked 'round with my grandson imma stab you bish'."

"Well for one he's Italian and hates your idiotic language so no, I don't think he would say any of those words. Guess you're safe there. Two, he's not going out in the broad daylight, it's all his cronies walking around that would notice you. You should be ok if you just stay under the radar. Don't get into enough trouble to cause anyone to look too far into you. Don't ever mention my name. And by tomorrow morning I'll hopefully never have to dawn your doorstep again."

Allen nodded slowly then stopped moving entirely. "Wait, hold up–you're leavin' tomorrow?"

"I would be leaving tonight but seeing as you wanted some answers and, now that I've had a minute to think about it, maybe going back into that hellstorm blind isn't a great idea, yes, I'll be leaving tomorrow instead. Why?"

"No." Allen shifted forward on his bed. "You ain't leavin'."

The temperature in the room plummeted. Luciano leaned forward with his head tilted slightly to one side. Allen swallowed heavily, trying to remain firm in appearance. "Excuse me?" Luciano snarled in a deadly whisper. "What did you just say?"

Allen gulped. "Nope. You can't go yet. I'm your doctor for the night and you're ain't discharged from the hospital yet."

Pursing his lips, Luciano leaned forward further. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Allen crossed his arms. "Nope. You can't even button your jacket properly. You're stayin' here."

"You can't stop me. You know that don't you? I don't care what you think. I'm leaving right now if I have to."

"You just said it's too dangerous to go out right now," Allen said hastily as the Italian began to stand up from his chair.

"I'll be fine. I've–" He reached back in his pocket then froze. "Allen?" The American crossed his arms. "Where the fuck is my gun?"

"Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout."

"Allen I'm not playing games. Where is it?" He said, deliberately slowly as to get his point well across.

After a few moments of time-stopping silence, Allen tilted his head towards the drawer. "There."

Luciano walked over and dug into the drawer as soon as he reached it. He took out the .22 and checked it over. It took him a minute of two before he turned to Allen with narrowed eyes. "What the hell did you do with the bullets?"

Allen leaned back slightly. "Threw 'em out the window."

Luciano jaw set. "You did what?"

"You heard me."

For a moment, everything was completely still. The American opened his mouth to say something when Luciano flung his firearm across the room. Allen flinched back as it clattered against the wall; the noise almost masked Luciano's voice as he cried. "Fine! You stubborn, inconsiderate, irritating, confusing man!"

Panting now, Luciano sat back down on the chair near the window and huffed. "You win."

"Oi, don't sleep over there," He called after Luciano tried and failed to sit comfortably. "Come on, you're hurt take the bad."

"No. It would be rude of me."

"Are you seriously worried about that after everything else? Just get over here you nerd." He patted the spot next to him on the bed.

Luciano buried his face in his hands and after a few minutes of silence he growled. "I'm too tired for this shit anyway." And walked over to settle down on the bed.

Allen moved off the bed but Luciano refused to let him sleep on that chair. After a few more minutes of bickering, the American found himself squeezed into bed next to Luciano. Al made sure he was near the edge so he would fall–if either of them–instead of his ailed friend. Squished between the wall and Allen, Luciano adjusted himself to try and get comfortable while Allen stretched over to turn the lamp off again.

Allen shifted back onto the bed, causing their knees to crash and their heads to bump against each other. "Ow–shit. Sorry."

"Here," Luciano grunted. He pulled Allen forward until he was flush against him. Before the American could voice his confusion he'd already wrapped one arm around Allen's shoulders and pulled his head so it was resting on his chest. His fingers wound in Al's dark hair and he entwined their legs together. Scooting impossibly closer and blushing vermilion, Allen timidly rested against his shoulder and placed his hand on his counterpart's back, giving him a gentle squeeze. Luciano settled down and rested his chin atop Allen's head. After a minute or two of staring up at him in confusion, Allen relaxed and tilted his head so his cheek rested against Luciano's shoulder.

"Didn't realize you were a cuddler," He teased sleepily.

"This is a lot more practical," Luci snapped defensively. "If you had a larger bed this wouldn't be necessary. I wouldn't be doing this at all if it wasn't so just shut up already and sleep."

"Whatever you say darlin'." He countered Luciano's glare with a huge grin before dropping his head down again to nuzzle into his neck. After a few minutes of silence Luci began to stroke his hair. Nerves went off all along his spine where his thin fingers brushed against his scalp, making him purr in the Italian's arms. A wave of calm spreading throughout his chest, Allen closed his eyes and finally relaxed.

…

"Allen."

He buried his head further into his pillow as someone insistently poked and prodded him.

"Get up."

He groaned and opened his burgundy eyes, only to snap them tight shut as the light stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Something was blaring obnoxiously in the background but he'd much rather just lay his head back down and deal with it when he could properly comprehend what was going on. In his state it took him a minute to see the pillow he was trying to hide in had a heartbeat. He blinked blearily and pulled away, realizing it was Luciano's chest he was clutching onto. A hand reached over and started shaking him, his alarm screeching faraway in the background.

"Nooo," Allen whined. "My head is hurtin' an' I'm warm…" He ignored Luciano's protest and buried his face back in Luciano's chest. "I wanna cuddle more."

Pink shaded Luciano's cheeks as he grumbled. "At _least_ turn off that damn thing before you wake half the building."

Allen turned over and reached to turn his alarm off. He felt around for the right button for a minute and once found he jammed his finger on it, bringing its cries to a halt. Groaning as he settled back in bed, Allen closed his sensitive eyes and relaxed again.

Luciano rolled his eyes. "I thought you had something to do this morning."

Allen squeezed Luci's chest. "Not every day I get a chance to cuddle with you," He purred. "And 'sides I don't really give a fuck. I'm tired as hell."

Luci scowled and swatted at the hands still holding onto his chest. "What's the point in having a job if you're not going to go to it?"

"Who're you, my mom?" Allen ignored Luciano's blows and instead reached down to grip onto his hips. "I wanna sleep damn it."

Luciano rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Not my fault if you get fired."

"I'll jus' make somethin' up, like I had a freak accident an' couldn't make it." In his fatigued state his accent only became more prevalent.

"Not my problem. But, uh…" He winced. "You're holding onto me a little tightly."

Allen opened his eyes and saw Luciano's jaw was set and his hands were balled into fists. He could feel him start to shake lightly and having looked down at the Italian's side, released his hips and shifted back as much as he could. "Shit. Sorry."

Luciano relaxed. "It's fine. But you really should go. You have work and I need to leave anyway."

Allen perked up at once. "Did I not make it clear last night you ain't goin' anywhere?" He narrowed his eyes at Luci. "If I got to stick 'round and hold you down you're stayin'."

The Italian scowled. "Allen, I need to properly address my cut. Tell someone where I am. I can't stick around very long or someone's going to ask one question too many. It's in both our best interest that I leave now."

"Hell, no." Al scooted closer and nuzzled him again. "You can borrow my phone and I can get you some stuff for your cut. But you ain't leavin' til you're all better."

Luciano shifted backwards, holding his head away from Allen. "Stop with that."

"You started it."

"Well now I'm ending it. Stop."

Allen pouted and released him. "Say it."

"Say what?"

"That you ain't leavin' til you're all ok again."

Luciano rolled his eyes. "What will you do if I don't?"

Allen opened his mouth, then thinking better of himself closed it. Shit, he hadn't thought of that. He didn't want to trap Luci. I mean, not really. He wanted to make sure he stayed put but he didn't want to force him to stay against his will. As time ticked gone the need to answer coiled around him and was slowly tightening around his throat. He needed to say something.

Finally, he settled on. "Do you trust me?"

Luci blinked. "What?"

Allen hesitated. Would he laugh? "You–I mean… it only, makes sense, don't it? That you stay? Like, you, uh…" Luciano crossed his arms. Even as The Italian puffed up he winced slightly. Maybe Al needed a new approach. Obviously challenging him wasn't the way to go. He ducked his head and tucked it underneath Luci's jaw. He could feel Luciano opening his mouth to protest when he murmured. "'m jus' worried 'bout you," If there was one thing he learned about Luciano, it's that he didn't like to be told what to do. "Stay, please? Jus' for a little while?"

Luciano relaxed. Allen's heart pounded against his chest. He seized up when Luci shifted and placed a hand on his head. "Why do you care about me so much? Don't you want me out of your life? I'm going to cause you nothing but trouble. I might understand if we were related but I'm _nothing_ to you."

Allen rested his chin against Luciano's shoulder. He was quiet for a moment. "I'm really scared if I let you go, you're not going to come back again."

"Why do you _want_ me to?" Luci reiterated. "What do you stand to gain?"

Allen wrapped his arms around him loosely. Finally he was getting through to him. "I dunno."

Luciano placed a hand flat against his back. For a while they just held onto each other, all the time Allen's heart rate didn't rest. Favoring his more docile side seemed to be helping a lot more. Putting his foot down only seemed to make things worse, and it wasn't really like him anyway. But he didn't know if it would be enough to change Luciano's mind. The man was so unpredictable it made his head spin.

"All right."

Allen's head shot up. "Really?"

Luciano glared again. "Yes really. But I'm not staying any longer than I need to. Just until I can get by without help. You got that?"

He grinned. "Sure boss."


End file.
